


This Is A Black Ski Mask Song

by ptrckstmp



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence, because honestly do i ever write anything besides angst?, guns and stuff, idk what else to tag this?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:50:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptrckstmp/pseuds/ptrckstmp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Pete and Patrick get mugged</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is A Black Ski Mask Song

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry im trash

Patrick shivered slightly and pressed his body a little closer to Pete’s as they walked, trying to leech some of his body warmth. They had just gotten out of a late showing of the new Star Trek movie and were now walking home, due to the fact that Pete’s car was still at the mechanics and “come on ‘Trick, it’s not even that far to the theater.”

The back street they were taking was completely deserted, and only a few streetlamps shone their watery light down on them. Patrick had walked this street many times before, but it was a little bit spookier in the dark. He squeezed Pete’s hand a little bit tighter, and Pete squeezed back.

“Hey!” a voice behind them called. Both Pete and Patrick turned to see who was talking to them, and Patrick felt a wave of fear rush through his body. Standing there was a kid, probably no more than 19 or 20, with a black ski mask pulled over his head and a gun held out in front of him. Pete dropped Patrick’s hand and put his hands up in a surrender motion, and Patrick quickly followed suit.

“Woah dude, don’t shoot.” Pete said. “What do you want? We’ll give it to you.”

The kid stepped closer to them, and Patrick fought the urge to step backwards.

“Give me your wallets.” The kid said, voice quavering slightly. “And your phones.” He made eye contact with Patrick, and Patrick saw his own fear reflected in the younger man’s eyes.

Pete lowered his hands, reaching for his wallet, but he moved a little too quickly. The kid broke eye contact with Patrick and swung to face Pete, pulling the trigger on his gun. Patrick jumped at the noise, even more adrenaline rushing through his body.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to pull the trigger my finger slipped…” their mugger said quickly, stepping forward as if to help. Then he regained his composure and brought the gun back up, training it on Patrick.

“Pete, you okay?” Patrick asked, looking over at his boyfriend. Pete was grasping his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Son of bitch.” He groaned through his teeth. “I was just getting my fucking wallet.”

“I don’t have all day! Just give me the stuff and I’ll leave and you can take him to the hospital or whatever.” The kid said, his voice and his hands shaking.

“Look, I’m going to get Pete’s wallet from his pocket, okay? So he doesn’t have to move his shoulder.” Patrick said, trying to keep his voice calm, his hands still up in the air. The kid nodded.

“Move slowly.”

Patrick carefully moved over in front of Pete and reached into his pocket, extracting the wallet.

“Are you going to be okay?” Patrick whispered. Pete nodded, brow furrowed in pain.   

“Stop talking!” the kid demanded. “And don’t forget to give me his phone too.”

Patrick smiled up at Pete briefly, trying to calm the both of them down. He slipped the phone out of Pete’s other pocket, and turned around to face their attacker again, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle him again. Then he reached into his pocket and retrieved his own wallet. He held all three objects in one hand.

“Where’s your phone?” the kid demanded.

“It’s at home charging man, I’m sorry.” Patrick lied. It was in the inside pocket of his jacket, he needed it if he was going to get Pete to the hospital before he bled out on the sidewalk. The kid accepted the lie easily, nodding.

Patrick stepped forward slowly, arm with the items outstretched. The gun was shaking in the attacker’s hand, finger still resting on the trigger, and Patrick was afraid of another accidental shot.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot him!” Patrick stopped, but the kid was looking behind him, gun still trained on Patrick.

“Damnit dude you just shot me, I’m trying to stop myself from losing all my blood!” Pete sounded frustrated, his voice husky with pain.

“I said don’t move!” The kid said, louder this time.

“Okay, okay, I’m not moving.” Pete assured him.

“Put your hands back in the air.”

Patrick heard Pete groan as he obeyed the orders.  He started moving forward again, very slowly.

“You don’t move either!” the kid shouted, voice rising in pitch, his eyes shooting back to Patrick. “I’ll shoot you if you come any closer, I swear I will!”

Patrick stopped moving abruptly.

“Look, I’m just going to set these on the ground, and then I’ll back up, okay?” Patrick tried to keep his voice steady. This was taking too long, he needed to get Pete some help! The kid just nodded, and Patrick bent over, placing the two wallets and Pete’s phone on the sidewalk. He straightened back up, hands in the air again.

A siren sounded in the distance and the kid jerked, his finger squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession. The sound echoed off the buildings and at first Patrick wondered where the bullets went. Then he felt a sharp burn in his abdomen. His hands went down to his stomach, and when he looked at them again they were stained red. His mouth dropped open in shock and a small gasp escaped.

 

 

“Patrick!” Pete wanted to rush to him, to see what damage had been done. He could only see his boyfriend’s back, and the pale face of the kid. The kid rushed forward, scooping up the items Patrick had left on the ground, and sprinted away. Pete saw Patrick fall heavily to his knees.

“Patrick!” He said again, running towards him. He caught Patrick as he slumped sideways, and saw the dark red blood oozing from between his fingers, his hand clutched tightly against his stomach.

Patrick’s breathing was sharp and irregular, and his eyes wide and out of focus. Pete felt nausea well up in his stomach and fought to keep it down, taking deep breaths in through his nose. He had all but forgotten about the pain in his shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” he asked as he gently lowered Patrick the rest of the way to the ground. He positioned Patrick so his head was resting in Pete’s lap and quickly pulled off the flannel he had on, wincing slightly as some dried blood on his shoulder came away with it.

He hastily folded the flannel into a pad and moved Patrick’s hand, pressing the pad of cloth against the wound instead.

“Hey, can you talk?” Pete asked frantically. He was trying to contain the panic welling up in his stomach. There was no one around, the guy had taken his cell phone, and he didn’t want to leave Patrick lying alone on the sidewalk while he ran for help, though he was thinking that would be the best option.

“Check inside my jacket.” Patrick mumbled. “Still have my phone.”

Pete felt hope flare inside his chest.

“You smart son of a bitch.” He said. He kept one hand firmly against Patrick’s stomach and used the other to find Patrick’s phone.  He turned it on and quickly dialed 911. He pressed the phone between his ear and his shoulder and listened to it ring.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice on the other end said.

“Hey, my boyfriend and I got mugged on our way home, we’ve both been shot. I’m pretty stable, but he’s losing blood fast.” Pete tried his hardest to stay calm as he told the dispatcher where they were and what had happened.  She assured him that an ambulance was on its way, and reminded him to keep constant pressure on the wound.

“Sir, can you stay on the line with me?” she asked. Just then the phone beeped, signaling low battery.

“Um, the phone is just about to die.” He said, wishing that Patrick had charged his phone before they left for the movie.

“Okay, you need to treat the victim for shock. Keep talking to him, and keep him talking. Emergency medical personnel will be there shortly.”

Pete nodded before realizing that she couldn’t see him.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—“ the phone beeped one more time before dying. Pete cursed quietly and focused his attention back on Patrick. His flannel was completely soaked with blood, and Patrick’s eyelids were fluttering.

“Hey, there’s help on the way. You’re going to be fine.” Pete reassured him, using a hand to gently brush Patrick’s hair off his forehead.

“Pete, am I going to die?” Patrick asked, looking up into his boyfriend’s face. Pete felt his heart stop for a second.

“No Patrick, you’re going to be fine. The ambulance will be here soon and they’ll patch us up. Don’t worry.” He said, hoping that he wasn’t lying. “Hey, do you remember when we first met?” He asked, trying to keep Patrick’s mind off the blood pouring from his stomach. “You were wearing the most ridiculous outfit I’d ever seen, and you told me that I needed a haircut and we nearly got in a fist fight, except Joe stopped us.”

Patrick laughed slightly, but it quickly turned into a cough. Blood bubbled up around his lips and Pete could tell he was struggling to breathe in.

“Hey, easy there.” Pete wiped the blood from his mouth and propped his upper body up a little more until he stopped coughing.

“Pete, I’m scared to die.” Patrick whimpered. “I didn’t want to go like this.”

“You’re not going to die Patrick.” Pete told him firmly. “I can hear the sirens right now, they’ll be here soon.”

Patrick shook his head.

“I love you Pete.” He said softly.

“Stop it Patrick.” Pete fought to keep the annoyance out of his voice and the tears off his cheeks. “Stop talking like that. You’re going to be okay.”

“Say it back.” Patrick said urgently.

“Look, I’m going to have all the time in the world to tell you I love you when you get better.”

“Please say it back.” Patrick was pleading with him. Pete sighed.

“I love you too Patrick.”

And as the words left his mouth he felt what Patrick must’ve been feeling—finality. It scared him.

Patrick started coughing again, harder this time. Pete just held him until it subsided, and then used his sleeve to wipe blood off his chin. The sirens were closer now. Pete guessed that it’d be about one more minute.

“I want to hear those lyrics you were working on again.” Patrick said.

“I don’t have a tune or anything, I can’t sing it.”

“Just recite them to me. Like a poem. I like it best that way anyway.”

Pete paused for a moment, looking down at Patrick’s blood stained face.

 

_“From day one I’m getting out,_

_But not forgetting how my worst fears are letting out._

_He said, why put a new address on the same old loneliness_

_When breathing just passes the time_

_Until we all get old and die._

_Now talking is just a waste of breath_

_And living is just a waste of death_

_Why put a new address_

_On the same old loneliness?_

_This is you and me_

_And me and you_

_‘Til there’s nothing we got left.”_

 

The sirens were really loud now; Pete figured they’d be here any second. He was right.

“Thanks Pete.” Patrick mumbled, eyes drifting closed.

“I love you.” Pete said again, just in case Patrick was right and he’d never get to say it again. He felt a weight pressing down on his chest. The ambulances had found them and EMTs were rushing towards them.

“I love you too.” Patrick responded. “You’re going to be okay.”

The EMTs reached them, and one knelt down next to Pete and quickly took over his job of applying pressure to the wound. Another one gently tugged on Pete’s arm.

“Sir, can you please come with me?” He asked, voice kind but demanding.

“I can’t leave him.” Pete said, shaking his head frantically. “I can’t leave him alone.”

“They’ll take good care of him. I need you to come with me.” The EMT said. Pete let himself be helped up and led away, casting frantic glances behind him.

Everything started to move in a blur then. He was only vaguely aware of the EMT shining a light into his eyes, and he responded to all questions in as few words as possible. He sat in the back of one of the ambulances while a bandage was applied to his shoulder.

He watched as they lifted Patrick’s limp body onto a stretcher and quickly wheeled it into the other ambulance, EMTs surrounding it, shouting things at each other. That ambulance left first, lights flashing and siren blaring.

The next morning he couldn’t remember what had happened after that, though he was sure he had still been conscious. He woke up in a hospital bed.

“Where’s Patrick?” He asked the first nurse who came into his room. “Can I go visit him?”

The nurse stopped what she was doing, her face fallen.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Wentz, he passed away early this morning.” She said gently. Pete went ice cold all over.

“He—“ he choked on the dryness in his throat, “he’s…dead?” The nurse nodded again.

“We have grief counselors available, if you need to talk.” She said, before shooting him another sad glance and leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

He heard Patrick’s voice echoing in his head.

_I love you. You’re going to be okay._

Bullshit. He was pretty sure he would never be okay again.  

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game called "will Marissa ever write something happy". The answer is probably no I'm sO SORRY IM TRASH
> 
> (okay no seriously send me prompts (actualpatrickstumph.tumblr.com) tho so I can write happier things pls and thank)


End file.
